


The Escort And The Hitman

by EllanaSan



Series: Hayffie Aus [4]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: AU, Also I'm still crappy at summary, Alternate Universe - Mob, F/M, mention of hitmen, mention of prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3665433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The smoke of cigarettes and cigars assaulted his lungs like every time Haymitch found himself in the President’s office before or after a job. <br/>“You are absolutely certain the man is dead, Abernathy?” President Snow asked in a soft voice that always reminded Haymitch of a snake. <br/>“Yes, sir.” Haymitch repeated for the third time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Escort and The Hitman

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my prompts collection on FF.net. I have decided to regroup the three one shots here since they belong to the same universe.

The smoke of cigarettes and cigars assaulted his lungs like every time Haymitch found himself in the President’s office before or after a job.

“You are absolutely certain the man is dead, Abernathy?” President Snow asked in a soft voice that always reminded Haymitch of a snake.

“Yes, sir.” Haymitch repeated for the third time, letting his eyes wander to Brutus and Crane in boredom. He couldn’t wait to get out of the strip-club, he was yearning for a drink in a place where nobody would ask him how his last hit had gone. There were too many hitmen at _The Capitol_ who were eager to hear the tale from what he had seen when he arrived.

“And how did our new recruit do?” the President insisted, looking at the woman who was standing slightly behind Haymitch.

Haymitch didn’t glance at the new escort.

“Good. She did what she was supposed to.” he shrugged. She had lured his target inside her hotel room where he was waiting, he had killed the target and urged her to get a move on before the police arrived. She had obviously been shaken but she hadn’t even screamed. Beyond that, he couldn’t say what she thought about the whole thing because they had barely exchanged two words during the whole mission.

“Effie’s promising.” Crane offered with a small smile for the escort.

The woman smiled back but it was a bit strained.

“Good.” President Snow concluded, reaching in a drawer before flinging a wad at Haymitch. “Take the girl for the night too. My treat for a job well done.”

“Thank you.” he answered even though it burned his mouth to have to thank that man.

The escort seemed as eager as he was to get out of the office but, once in the corridor, she hesitated. The strained smile was still firmly set on her red-painted lips but her blue eyes were darting left and right in obvious distress. She toyed with a strand of dark hair, smoothing her red dress with the other hand.

“My room is that way.” she said at last, pointing to the right.

A single look was enough to understand she was unnerved by the idea of spending time with him – and why wouldn’t she? She had seen him kill a man less than two hours ago, for all she knew he could be a brute who would hurt her for his own pleasure.

It couldn’t be further from the truth though. All he wanted was a drink, not a fuck. And she had seen enough for that night, he mused. He couldn’t send her back to her room, they would put her back to work right away, not to mention that President Snow would be vexed that he didn’t accept his “present”. Escorts weren’t exactly cheap at this club.

“We’re going out.” he told her. He didn’t want to have that conversation in front of Snow’s office. He headed to the front of the club without glancing back once, trusting that she would follow him. He waved at Chaff on his way out of the strip-club and didn’t stop walking when he reached the parking lot. She did, he could tell by the sudden absence of clicking heels.

“Where are we going?” she asked at last.

He turned around. “Do you have an apartment?” But he dismissed the half-cooked plan before it was even out of his mouth. She was new, they would still be watching her apartment – Snow was paranoid that way.

“I’m not taking you back to my apartment.” she replied firmly. She jutted her chin in the air in a demonstration of stubbornness.

“Good.” he shrugged. “Never bring a client there.” Stupidity was the first cause of escorts’ deaths. “We’re going to mine, then.”

She still didn’t start walking. “Why? I have a very convenient room right here.”

“You _had_ to be a pain in the ass, didn’t you?” he sighed. “Look, you’re booked for the whole night. Either you come with me or you deal with Crane.”

She looked back at the club and then she started walking again. _Finally._

“Don’t you have a car?” she asked after five minutes.

He didn’t. He walked around or he took the underground, it was easier to lose people in a possible chase.

“Do you have to talk?” he retorted.  

She completely lost her forced smile in favor of a sulk. He watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked. She was struggling to keep up with him but she refused to be left behind. _Stubborn_ , he concluded again, it could be either an asset or dangerous for her. She was very pretty although it was the eyes that caught his attention in the first place : the bluest of blue. The hair wasn’t real, he was ready to bet on it but he wasn’t a hundred percent sure : if it was a wig, it was a very good imitation.

“The man we killed.” she whispered after a while. “Was he a bad man?”

He couldn’t quite believe she would talk about that in the middle of the street, as deserted as it was. There was so much anguish and sorrow on her face, however, that he couldn’t bring himself to tell her off.

“First, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he shrugged. “Second, there’s no _we_ in this sentence. _You_ did nothing.”

“I seduced him into following me.” she argued.

She was shivering. He chose to believe it was from the cold. She couldn’t be very warm in her red dress and he hadn’t left her enough time to grab a coat. Rolling his eyes at his own stupidity – because why did he care? she was a bother more than anything else – he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She looked up, obviously surprised. “I didn’t think you were a gentleman.”

“I’m not a gentleman.” he muttered. “And you’re not responsible for what happened tonight.”

“I could have said no.” she replied.

“Yeah.” he snorted. “Best case scenario, you would be my next hit. Worst case, you would be Enobaria’s. She enjoys screams of pain.” She shuddered and this time, it wasn’t from the cold. “Do what you’re told, sweetheart, it’s best for everyone involved.”

“Effie.” she reminded him. Haymitch didn’t care much for names. In his profession, most of them were as fake as the people who wore them.

He made them turn around in the same street for the third time, just to be sure they weren’t followed. Snow wasn’t the only one who was paranoid.

Finally, when he was tired of walking in circles, he stopped in front of his nondescript front door.

“We passed in front of it four times.” she pointed out.

“Another rule for you.” he chuckled. “Never go straight home.”

The elevator was broken again so they took the stairs. He felt a pang of contentment when he _finally_ unlocked his door. He threw his keys on a nearby table, kicked off his shoes not caring that his socks were full of holes and placed his gun on the coffee table – he kept the knife strapped to his ankle though – before making a beeline for the whiskey patiently waiting next to the couch. His flask had been empty for a few hours now and the first swallow of hard liquor was a relief.

“Okay, here’s the deal…” he started, turning around to face his unwelcome guest. And then he choked. He hadn’t expected her to stand there in matching red bra and panties, the dress a heap of fabric on the floor. It turned him on more than it should have. He took another swing of whiskey as she stepped over the dress and walked closer with a seductive sway that explained why the man had been so eager to follow her earlier. She _was_ good. He stepped back before she could come close enough for him to forget he didn’t want it. “Look, sweetheart, you don’t have to do that.” He very much wanted to avert his eyes but he didn’t seem to be able to. Fortunately, she stopped advancing on him, her brow furrowed in a frown. “You lay low here for two or three hours and then you can go home without anyone asking questions. As far as anyone knows, you did your job.”

She flushed crimson. “You… don’t want me.”

There was a part of his anatomy that very much disagreed with that statement. “I want a drink. In peace.”

He flopped on his couch to appear composed. It probably would have worked better if his big toe hadn’t been poking out of his sock.

“Am I not satisfactory or… Do you like men?” she frowned, obviously still puzzled over the fact that a man had refused her. With a body like that, he mused, it couldn’t happen very often.

“Nothing personal, I just don’t pay for sex.” he shrugged. “And _no_.”

“Oh.” She was embarrassed now and maybe even upset but it wasn’t Haymitch’s problem. “But then why did you bring me here, I don’t…”

“You would have problems if they think you didn’t do your job.” he sighed, before throwing an arm on his eyes to block the light. “And I will have problems if I refuse a gift from the President. Sit down, have a drink, watch TV… Whatever. You’re staying here for a few hours.”

There was a few seconds of blessed silence before her high-pitched voice broke it again. “May I take a shower? I hate to impose but…”

“Bathroom’s that way.” He waved in the good direction. “Knock yourself out. Have a bath even.”

She huffed and marched away, muttering about lack of manners. Haymitch ignored her and kept drinking. The problem when you were used to drinking too much liquor was that was a lot harder to actually _get drunk_. By the time she reappeared, her skin slightly pink from the hot water, he was barely buzzed.

“Did I say you could steal my clothes?” He lifted a curious eyebrow, not even annoyed at her snooping around. Besides, his blue shirt looked better on her.

“Since you didn’t have the courtesy to show me to your bathroom or give me a towel, I had to take matters upon my own hands.” she replied, perching herself at the other end of the couch. The shirt rode dangerously high on her thighs. “You aren’t a very good host, you know.”

“You’re awfully demanding for a prostitute.” he replied, keeping his tone light enough so she wouldn’t take offence. “You weren’t blond earlier.”

It had been a wig, then. The blond curls fell to her shoulders, much prettier than the straight dark hair.

“I thought you might prefer blondes.” she challenged, watching him like a hawk. He didn’t reply. “So… Abernathy is your last name. Do you have a first name?”

“Do you have a last one, _Effie_?” he smirked.

“Trinket.” she offered, too slowly for it to be true. It didn’t surprise him. He had changed names so many times himself he could barely keep track. “Now, it’s your turn.”

“Haymitch.” he shrugged.

“Haymitch.” she repeated. “I like it.” She leaned forward, placing a hand on his thigh. “Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you, Haymitch?”

“Well…” He took a swallow of whiskey watching her pale hand slowly running up and down his thigh. “Can you cook?”

The hand froze. “Cook?”

“Yeah. Cook.” He pushed himself up, suddenly aware of how hungry he was. He never ate regularly and he sometimes found himself starving. He wasn’t precisely sure it was food he was craving at this very moment but he chose to pretend it was.

The kitchen was dusty and mostly empty, stacked with takeout boxes and packages. It turned out she couldn’t cook but she was very handy with a trash bag and before he knew what was happening, she was trashing everything, all the while claiming his apartment was a sanitary hazard. He made pasta because that was the only thing he could do without burning it.

“You have a posh accent.” he commented after she was done trashing the whole content of his kitchen. He was trying to decide if adding whiskey to the pasta water was a good or a bad idea.

“It’s British.” she scowled. “ _Don’t you dare_ put liquor in there.”

“I wasn’t about to.” he lied defensively, rolling his eyes. She thought she had him all figured out, didn’t she? “How does a British girl end up being an escort in Chicago?”

“I said I had a British accent not that I was British.” she corrected him, turning the fire off. He let her deal with the hard task of getting the pasta out of the water, he always ended up spilling everything when he did it.

“Doesn’t answer the question.” he pointed out, rummaging through a cupboard. He found an old can of tomato sauce that would have to do.

“Isn’t it always the same story?” she replied, dividing the pasta into two plates.

“Not always.” He poured sauce and appraised the result. It didn’t look very appealing but it didn’t stop him from eating a mouthful. It was edible so he sat down at the kitchen table and started to eat. She did the same after a new muttered comment about rudeness. “Crane has a gift for finding pretty women with a drug addiction. He feed them back into shape. You don’t fit the profile.”

“I was a foolish girl who dreamed of fame and glory.” she sighed with irritation. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I made enemies. President Snow’s protection is an efficient deterrent.”

“Maybe.” He wasn’t particularly convinced it would be enough to keep her safe. “It’s a shame, sweetheart. You could do something else.”

“Couldn’t you?” she replied, toying with her pasta. “How does a man end up killing other human beings for money?”

“Well, for _money_.” he chuckled. He would have to tell this one to Chaff, he would laugh.

She wasn’t fooled, though. She watched him silently for a few seconds and then shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

“You should.” he lied around a mouthful of pasta. He washed it down with whiskey; he didn’t want to tell her his sad little tale. It wasn’t really interesting anyway. They all had reasons to end up in the shit hole that was _The_ _Capitol_. They were all under President Snow’s thumb. What did it matter how they arrived there?

“You aren’t a bad man.” she stated, placing her fork down. Obviously the pasta weren’t up to her standards. He huffed but she reached for his hand, stilling it before he could bring the bottle to his lips again. “You _aren’t_.” she insisted. “When a beautiful woman strips down in front of them, bad men pounce on her, trust me, I know.”

“Doesn’t make me a good one, sweetheart.” he warned her.

He studied her when she stood up and walked around the table. He didn’t expect her to pass a leg above his to straddle his lap but his hands immediately went to her waist to steady her. Her lips brushed against his once, twice and then, when he finally gave up and chased her mouth, she kissed him properly. It was _glorious_. It wasn’t just lust or desire but something tugging at his guts, something just… _connected_.

“You don’t have to do that.” he told her again, a bit out of breath.

“I know.” she hummed. “That’s why I want to.” She kissed him again. “Not tonight though. Next time. But you will buy me a decent dinner.”

“Sounds like dating to me.” he snorted. “I don’t date, sweetheart.”

“That’s alright. We can be friends.” She pecked his mouth. “I need a friend. I think you need one too.”

He waved at their position. “Doesn’t this seem a bit overfriendly to you?”

“We can be the kind of friends who have sex.” she scolded with some irritation. “Stop contradicting me.”  

“You’re very annoying, you know.” he grunted but, then again, he had a thing for annoying women.

It was him who kissed her next and he didn’t stop until she moaned.

He wasn’t sure who won that round.

He wanted to think he did.


	2. To Paris

The lights were dimmed in the small office clouded with smoke from cigarettes and cigars. A real cliché, Haymitch thought as he slid the briefcase over the desk. Snow opened it silently and touched the neat stacks of bank notes inside. It was all there, Haymitch had made sure of it.

“No problem?” The President, as he liked to be called, asked with nothing but polite interest. Behind his left shoulder, Brutus was staring at him with an intensity Haymitch didn’t like. Crane’s gaze, at the other end of the room, was riveted on him too. Haymitch had to fight the urge to draw his gun and be done with this one way or another. He wasn’t stupid enough to tempt it. Brutus was Snow’s best hitman, he was quicker than Haymitch’s, younger too. As for Crane, he could probably hit a decent shot if he set his mind to it.

“No, sir.” Haymitch said, forcing his voice to sound detached and schooling his feature in a bored mask. “The guy’s dead, the money’s all there. In and out. Easy.” Nothing he hadn’t done a hundred times before.

“You’re an excellent asset, Abernathy.” Snow told him. Did he imagine the threat in that snake’s voice? “I would hate to lose you.”

“I’m not planning on going everywhere, President.” he lied through his teeth. The quicker he could get out of there, the better. Brutus’ insistent staring was unnerving but Haymitch stayed put.

“Excellent.” Snow threw a wad at him. He caught it in the air. “Go have some fun but don’t drink too much, Abernathy. We’re starting to be concerned about that. We need your hands steady.”

Haymitch almost laughed at that one. Was his notorious alcoholism what had them so worried? Was that the reason they all looked ready to kill him at the first toe overstepping the line? It was all good if it was. Better than them knowing the truth.

He stepped out of the office, breathing out in relief at still being alive. It wasn’t something he took for granted anymore. He was flirting with Death more and more each day. He came back to the main part of the building, the inconspicuous strip-club where Snow had established his headquarters and headed straight for the bar. His eyes instinctively scanned the place, noticing each of Snow’s men in the midst of regular clients. He ordered a whiskey at the bar and joined Chaff at the small table tucked on the far right of the scene. He barely glanced at the dancer wiggling up there but his friend was enthralled.

“She’s new?” he asked as a way of greeting.

“Yeah.” Chaff said, rubbing his lump against his forehead. “Pity, she’s too young for that shit.”

“They always are.” Haymitch shrugged, sipping his whiskey slowly. He looked around, searching for a particular face but couldn’t find it. There was a bunch of Snow’s girls scattered throughout the room, smiling and giggling but not the one he wanted. He spied Finnick a few feet away and gestured for him to come to their table.

“Sorry, Haymitch, I’m not free.” Finnick joked with a wink.

Chaff snorted but Haymitch didn’t even try to look amused. Finnick wanted out as much as everybody in this place. “Effie’s working tonight?” He tried to sound casual but he failed miserably.

Finnick’s eyes were knowing when he nodded to the door leading to the upper floor. “Got herself a client right now. A regular. And then Snow booked her for the night I think. She has to go to a fancy hotel or something.”

The hand not holding his glass clenched into a fist Haymitch was quick to hide under the table. He hated the thought of other men touching her. He hated the hollowness that crept more and more often in her eyes lately.

“I can ask Crane to find you someone else…” Finnick offered half-heartedly.

“Like you’ve ever seen Haymitch touching another escort.” Chaff laughed.

“Who is it?” Haymitch insisted, ignoring his friend’s gibe. “The regular.” Because he had his suspicions…

“Heavensbee.” Finnick winced, hesitated and then stepped closer to Haymitch, lowering his voice. “He always asks for her. Crane noticed and Snow doesn’t like it. I tried to warn her but she’s not listening… There’re rumors about Heavensbee… It’s starting to look suspicious. Tell her, maybe she will listen to _you_.”

Finnick sauntered away after that, wolfish grin on his lips and eyes twinkling in fake happiness. Haymitch’s stomach was churning.

“What’s the deal with Heavensbee?” he asked Chaff. He knew _very_ _well_ what the deal was with Heavensbee. The man was an undercover cop and if Snow was onto him then Haymitch was in trouble because he would be next on the line. He should never have listened to Effie… It was Effie who had introduced Heavensbee to him. Heavensbee had made all kind of promises to her in exchange for her help, witness protection if she accepted to testify, a free pass if she collected evidence… She was too trusting and a man who paid for her company and didn’t touch her had won her over in minutes. She had bargained to include Haymitch in the deal and Heavensbee had only been too happy to agree. It had worked well for a while but Haymitch sensed they were about to enter hot waters. Heavensbee’s superior, Coin, was too eager, too impatient to go for the kill… Haymitch had hated her on sight. He had told Effie to stop any contact with Heavensbee, to let him handle the situation for them both…

“I know nothing about that.” Chaff said, eyes darting around wearily before he leaned closer to Haymitch. “But they’re onto him. If your girl dabbled in that, I would tell her to get the hell out of the country and quickly.”

Haymitch remained silent but downed his glass in one go and said his goodbyes. He was halfway to the club doors when he saw Effie and Heavensbee appearing on the stairs leading to the upper floor. As usual he was taken aback by how beautiful she looked even in those ridicule outfits of hers. She was wearing a short pink wig and an equally pink tight dress… Their eyes met briefly but instead of smiling like she usually would, she bit her lower lip and glanced worriedly at Heavensbee. Haymitch narrowed his eyes and frowned to let her know he _indeed_ wasn’t pleased.

As for Heavensbee… It was very easy to grab him on his way to his car and to drag him in the back alley next to the club. Haymitch slammed him into the wall, kicking his gun away before he could get any idea. There was a reason Haymitch was one of Snow’s hitman, only the best for the President. “What did I tell you about Effie?” he growled in the man’s face. “You leave her _out_ _of_ _this_.”

The cop didn’t particularly seem worried about being manhandled. “She has information. She’s valuable.”

“I don’t care.” Haymitch snapped. “You’re going to get her _killed_.”

“I’m trying to protect her.” Heavensbee retorted. “She’s valuable because she has intel. If she’s not useful, Coin will throw her aside and _then_ she will get killed for sure.”

“Yeah?” he snorted. “Anything happens to her, the deal is off. Tell that to Coin.”

Heavensbee almost looked sorry. “She won’t care.”

The more twisted fact was that she probably wouldn’t. Coin was a real piece of work. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust anyone. He flung the man aside and walked away without another word. He walked back to his flat, taking advantage of the long stroll in the cold to clear his mind. It was time for desperate measures he figured. He had been all for taking Snow out originally but that had been when it had matched his priorities. Now, on the other hand…

Once he was back in his flat, he didn’t lose any time before grabbing the bag under the bed where he kept his money. He added the wag Snow had given him earlier and estimated there was enough to cover emergencies. The rest was on a bank account nobody knew about and certainly not Snow, being a hitman paid well even though it did little for his tortured conscience. Haymitch was well off. He grabbed other bags from the closet and started packing hurriedly. Essentials only. He packed most of what she had left at his place too, already imagining the lecture about proper clothes folding he was sure she’d give him.

When he was done the night was still young, so he laid down on his couch and started drinking. Just enough to ease the anxiety, not enough to actually get drunk… He didn’t want to get drunk tonight or, rather, he wanted nothing _but_ to get drunk. That wouldn’t be very clever however. He had made arrangements a while ago, just in case. He had found them a safe passage to Europe and from there… It was anyone’s guess.

He drank and waited. By the time he heard the rattling of keys, he was beyond tipsy but still coherent enough to put a hand on his gun. He heard the front door opening and closing and then the loud noise of the lock being turned. He moved his hand away when she leaned against the doorframe of the living-room.

“If you’re angry, I’m going back to my apartment.” she warned him. “I’m too exhausted to fight.”

“Yeah, too much fucking will do that to you.” he growled. “How many men tonight, sweetheart?”

She lowered her eyes, obviously hurt. “You’re being unfair.”

And he was. It wasn’t like she had a choice. She already was an escort when he had met her and he had still fallen for her, all the while knowing it was the worst idea he could ever have. “I hate it.”

“I know.” she sighed. She took off her pink wig and quickly unpinned her hair. “Let me take a shower and you can tell me off about Plutarch while I remind you that I’m a grown woman who can take care of herself.” She tousled her blond hair, a small smile playing on her lips. He didn’t acknowledge her, taking another sip of whiskey instead. It didn’t take more than thirty seconds for her to come back, worry carved on her face. “Why did you pack away my clothes, Haymitch?” Her lips were wobbling slightly. “If you wanted to break up with me, the proper thing to do would have been…”

“Don’t be stupid, sweetheart.” he cut her off. “My stuff is packed too. Go take your shower, I will explain later.” She didn’t seem particularly reassured by that. “Trust me, Effie.”

She nodded and went back to the bathroom. He heard the shower running a few minutes later. She usually favored long and scathing showers for reasons Haymitch didn’t like to linger on but this time she kept it short. She came back wearing a silk blue blouse and a dark skirt. Clever girl, he mused, she had understood pajamas wouldn’t be of much use tonight. He put down the bottle of whiskey and wrapped his arms around her when she laid on him, snuggling against his chest and tucking her head under his chin.

“When do we leave?” she asked.

“At dawn.” he replied, dropping a kiss against her forehead. “There’s a small airport not far from the city. Someone owes me. They will take us to a private island and from there we can catch a plane for Europe. I have fake IDs for both of us.”

“Europe might not be far enough.” she commented, her fingers playing absent-mindedly with the buttons of his shirt.

“We will see once we get there.” he shrugged. “We can find a quiet place… Or a big city if you like that better. We could go to Paris… Get lost in the background.” He coiled a strand of her hair around his finger and let it bounce back into place. “We could start over.”

“No more murders.” she whispered, knowing how much he hated it, how much he hated himself over them.

“No more prostitution.” he replied. “We’ll be free.” How many times had they fantasized about precisely this? Buying a house in a boring suburb and living a boring life with boring jobs and boring barbecues on Sundays just like everyone else? Perhaps even adopting an ordinary dog or an ordinary cat…

“What about Plutarch?” she asked. “We promised we would help…”

“We’re professional liars, sweetheart.” he huffed. “They can all go to hell for all I care. I want _you_ safe.”

She propped her hand on the armrest and touched his chin quietly so he would look at her. She had amazingly blue eyes, it was her eyes that had captured his attention the first time he had seen her.

“They will hunt us down.” she told him. “We will never be safe.”

“We will never be safe here either.” he argued. “It’s all about to go to shit one way or another, Effie. Either Plutarch gets caught and we’re dead or Coin arrests some of the network’s heads and the first thing Snow will order is a clean-up. That means the likes of me killing the likes of you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You have to trust me on this.”

“I trust you.” she replied in a heartbeat. Her eyes were still worried but a small smile grazed her lips. “Paris it is.”

“To Paris then.” he smirked back, stretching his neck to kiss her properly for the first time that night.

“To Paris.” she repeated. He would bet his right hand she was already thinking about all the shopping she would be able to do there. He doubted she had chosen the capital of fashion at random. She would probably insist for him to go with her in every shop to, at least, help her carry the bags, she was annoying like that. But, he thought, kissing her again, that was why he loved her.

 


	3. From Paris

There were a lot of bridges in Paris, Haymitch mused, lots of steps too. He leaned against the right bank railing, watching cars and people alike cross the bridge _du Carrousel_ ; he had learned early enough that Paris was always busy no matter the hour or the day. It was chilly next to the Seine and he longed for the warmth of the small apartment he and Effie had rented for the month. They were talking about finding something more permanent that the small holiday flat they were currently living in, they were also talking about fleeing to another country. Money wasn’t a problem and would probably never be but their safety was another matter entirely.

Paris was as good a place as any, he figured. They had been there for almost three weeks already and no one had come after them. _Yet_.

Effie loved everything about the city : the fashion, the shops, the atmosphere, the language… She spoke French fluently and she enjoyed practicing her skills even if she kept referring to them as rusty. It was a lie, of course, there was nothing rusty about them. It was a good thing that most people spoke English otherwise Haymitch would have depended on her for everything. After three weeks, all he could say was “ _Bonjour”, “Merci”_ and his favorite _“Comment aller ici, s’il vous plait”_ – the last one was generally coupled with pointing at a map. Their underground was a damn mess.

He checked his watch and frowned, worry starting to swirl in his stomach. Effie was ten minutes late and that wasn’t like her at all. She was always up at dawn but that morning, he had refused to go out with her to enjoy a lie-in, he had figured she had been out without him a few times without nothing bad happening and it was time they started living their life again instead of simply running. They had been together twenty-four hours a day for three weeks and they were both starting to suffocate, the fights were becoming uglier each day even for them. They needed space and time away from each other. _So let her go shopping by herself_ , he had thought, and now he deeply regretted his decision.

They had agreed to meet on the right bank, next to _le pont du Carrousel_ at one in the afternoon so they could go to the _Louvre_ together – she was bent on going to every damn museum in the city; he grumbled and dragged his feet but he actually enjoyed it – and now she was late. There was always the possibility that she had gotten lost but he doubted that. She was good with maps, almost better than he was. They lost their way in the underground quite often but not in the actual city.

He sighed in relief when he finally spied her bright yellow dress through the crowd.

“You’re late, sweetheart.” he spat when she was in hearing range.

She glanced at him in annoyance but thrust a newspaper at him, she was carrying a bunch of them. “What does it mean?”

The headline of a French newspaper assaulted his eyes with words he couldn’t understand. “Still not speaking French, Effie.”

She frowned when she realized her mistake. “Oh, sorry! Here.”

This newspaper was in English and he almost tear it in two when he caught sight of the front news. A mafia cartel disbanded in Chicago, the man known as “The President” arrested… There had been a bloodbath at _The Capitol_ , the strip-club Snow used as headquarters, a lot of casualties, hitmen and escorts alike had been killed…

“Do you think…” Effie hesitated. “Do you think Finnick and the others are alright?”

He really didn’t.

“I don’t know.” he lied. No point in getting her worked up over something they would never know. He spared a thought for Chaff and hoped the old man had found the guts to run away like he and Effie had.

“We left just in time.” Effie whispered, she neatly folded the newspapers she was carrying and dumped them in a nearby bin. “If we had been there…”

“We would both be dead.” he finished for her with certainty. He knew how this kind of _cleaning_ worked. They probably had rounded the escorts around and… He pushed the thought away. “But we’re not. No point in dwelling on what if, sweetheart.”

She forced a smile on her lips but it didn’t reach her eyes. She passed her arm under his and they started walking in the direction of the _Louvre_.

“Are we safe now?” she asked. “For good, I mean.”

Safe… Safe was a strange concept. He was sure people were looking for him, be it the police or even Snow himself, even prison wouldn’t stop that man.

“I don’t know.” he snorted as they neared the huge pyramide. “I think we’re about to die of boredom.”

“Can’t you be serious?” she clucked her tongue before starting to ramble about the reasons why cultural heritage was important.

He let her rant, stealing a sip from his flask now and then when she wasn’t looking, simply happy to enjoy the grey rainy sky, her annoying high-pitched voice and the swarm of tourists talking loudly around them.

Perhaps they weren’t safe but, at least, for now, they were free.


End file.
